Blood Stains
by Gray Doll
Summary: He could tell this was code for 'Shut up and don't look at me like that, Jane, I'm not dying.' - Jane/Lisbon


**Notes: **Well, this is a bit different. Oh - Just so you know, in this Jane and Lisbon are still working with the CBI (which still exists), because I simply can't let go of it. It's hard for me to forsake five years of the noisy bullpen, Lisbon's office, the elevator, Jane's attic, the interrogation rooms and the rooftop. You won't find any of these here - but they're around. *does that make any sense?*

* * *

**Blood Stains**

Lisbon started coughing during their vacation in France.

"It's just a cold, Jane," she said, waving a hand dismissively even as she pressed the other to her chest. That she had slipped and called him 'Jane' instead of Patrick, after a whole year of being together, was an indication that her focus was elsewhere. "Or maybe allergies. There are so many trees and flowers near our hotel."

Jane wasn't sure he bought that. But Lisbon had always had allergies, and it _was_ summer, a time when plenty of plants decided to act funny and make things even worse than they probably already were.

So Jane nodded and thought 'Allergies, just allergies', and convinced Lisbon to stay in bed for the rest of the day. In the morning, she coughed less.

They left France a week later and traveled to Italy – she said she'd always wanted to go there.

By the time they arrived, Lisbon had an obvious trouble breathing.

"It's probably just a cold," she sighed as she stepped inside their motel room. "I've been a little off since Paris. My fault for not taking it easy, really."

Jane nodded as she promised she would lie down; when she disappeared into the bedroom, he called the receptionist and informed him they would be leaving tomorrow morning.

"I'm just fine," she said stubbornly, shaking her head as Jane commented on the slight wheeze coming from her chest as soon as they were back in Sacramento.

"Maybe you should take tomorrow off?" Jane suggested gently though he knew the answer he would get. Lisbon liked to conserve her sick days, because colds and coughs were not uncommon for her. If she could work through it, he knew she would.

Lisbon smiled sadly (but not really). "You know I can't do that," she said, and gave him a soft peck on the forehead before going to take a shower.

Lisbon started coughing up blood during dinner some weeks after that.

At first, Jane forced himself to think that it could be just sauce from the steak on her plate, but whenever she coughed more joined, and he jumped up from his chair and ran around to her side of the table.

"Teresa?"

When she was finally able to speak, Lisbon drew a shuddering breath and swatted his hand away. "It could be – bronchitis. Or pneumonia. Tommy coughed up blood when he had pneumonia. You really shouldn't be panicking."

Jane swallowed. He could tell this was code for 'Shut up and don't look at me like that, Jane, I'm not dying.' But it didn't lessen his concern in the slightest.

He placed his hand over her own on the table. "I guess we should call the doctor, then."

"In the morning," Lisbon agreed, though Jane knew it would take more than that to actually convince her to go see a doctor.

The next way, much to his surprise, she went, shooing Jane off as she stepped outside and entered her car. He stayed back, drinking tea and staring at the wall, anxiously waiting for her call.

_Please be treatable. Please don't be fatal_. He knew he was probably exaggerating. But he couldn't help it.

She called around twelve.

"I'm fine. It's pneumonia." For all her confidence that everything would turn out okay, Lisbon sounded terribly relieved. "I'll meet you at work."

Jane sighed with his own relief as she hung up the phone, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. _It's not bad. It's treatable. It's not fatal._

Somehow, though, he didn't feel one-hundred percent confident in the diagnosis. On his way to the CBI building, he couldn't help but think that something felt wrong. Something felt off.

"The blood?" he hesitantly asked at night, when they were getting ready for bed.

"Normal."

"What about the coughing?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "The doctor said pneumonia come on slowly," she explained as she unbuttoned her sweater. "And besides, for all we know it _was_ allergies over the summer, and a cold a few months back. There's really no way of knowing."

Jane didn't press the subject, and joined her in bed.

His confidence got weaker as Lisbon did. Wasn't medication supposed to make a person feel better? But after a whole month of treatment, Lisbon only seemed to be getting worse.

"I suppose the illness is just throwing a tantrum," Lisbon smiled, despite her pale face and red-rimmed eyes. Lately she coughed so much it would make her eyes water, and wiping the tears so many times left them red and puffy. "Don't worry, okay? Everything's fine. I'm fine."

"I'll call the doctor tomorrow," Jane said. "The medication might not be working as best as it could."

He wasn't sure he believed his own words.

Lisbon gave a shrug and lowered her head back on the pillow. "If you insist," she murmured, and fell asleep within seconds.

The doctor didn't seem particularly cheered by Lisbon's appearance either, and ordered x-rays. The next days were spent in almost a vacuum – Lisbon was tired, tired enough to call in sick and sleep most of the time (when she wasn't coughing), and whenever Jane wasn't solving cases he was sitting quietly on his own and trying not to think.

When he did think, he only thought of the same mantra over and over again. _Please be treatable. Please don't be fatal. Please be treatable. Please don't be fatal._

_Please be pneumonia. Please be _just_ pneumonia._

It wasn't good, pneumonia, but it was treatable. And it was certainly better than some alternatives.

The doctor called about nine days after Lisbon's x-rays had been ordered, and all he would say over the phone was, "Please come in, we have your test results."

Jane's heart sank, and part of him knew.

Lisbon, however, gave him a small smile. "Everything will be fine," she said, and there was still enough optimism to light her eyes.

On their way to the doctor's, Jane felt it. He felt like was walking down an all too familiar, dimly lit hallway, getting closer and closer to the door. _The door._

He closed his eyes.

_Please be treatable. Please don't be fatal._

They waited in the doctor's office, Jane standing beside Lisbon at the window. It was better than sitting down and staring at the doctor's desk, even though it was winter and everything outside was cold and dead.

Jane clasped her hand tightly in his own.

When the doctor finally came in, a part of Jane knew. _And he opened the door_.

"Not pneumonia?" Lisbon inquired softly. Jane glanced to his right, and he saw the light had left her eyes. She knew as well.

The doctor fixed them both with a serious gaze. "You should sit down."

That night, Jane heard Lisbon murmuring to herself (she probably thought he had fallen asleep, but how could he?).

"Poison." Her voice was a choked chuckle, resonating in the quiet of their bedroom. "Now that's low, even for him."

_He opened the door, and entered the room_.


End file.
